


Choices

by indigo (indigo_angels)



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 04:05:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10654557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_angels/pseuds/indigo
Summary: Some choices stay with us forever... The eventual clean slate that Hannibal always promised does not necessarily bring the happy ending that the team deserve. Not to everyone at any rate.





	Choices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueLotus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueLotus/gifts).



> Ages and ages and ages ago (and I can’t even remember where!) BlueLotus asked for a fic to go with this still which is a grab from the trailer for The Words.
> 
> (If the technology fails and you want to see the picture, watch the trailer on YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gjmrDDD9o_k), and the particular shot can be found at 2 mins 04 seconds.)
> 
> So, as I hoard everything, I had that prompt on my ‘To Write’ list for a while and eventually, and in honour of BlueLotus’ birthday back in 2013, I finally wrote it.

The cab rolls slowly down the packed interstate, as Face stares sightlessly from the window. He’d forgotten it was rush hour and the Friday before Christmas and wonders absently if he’ll still catch his flight. But then he realises it doesn’t even matter; he doesn’t care about his flight, about what he’ll do if he misses it, about what he’ll do if he doesn’t. He doesn’t care about anything anymore. 

It’s strange, his life has always been unpredictable, always taken strange and sometimes shocking twists and turns, but like a pro-surfer, he’s always stayed on top, he’s ridden the huge swells, avoided the worst of the dumpers and successfully stayed afloat in the doldrums, so it’s odd that it’s now, at the time when he should effectively be back on shore, instead, he suddenly finds himself drowning.

Three years on the run, then a pardon they’d just about given up on. Honourable dismissals this time, and a whole life ahead of them. Murdock and BA had known exactly what they’d wanted to do with that life, BA flew straight up to Detroit and the client they’d left there six months ago and successfully proposed, while Murdock headed for LA and started turning his blog, a hugely successful mix of reality and the supernatural, into a screenplay.

Hannibal had been more reticent, had kept his plans to himself at first, but then had ended up in New York, enrolled in Drama school and bought a little studio in a converted warehouse. 

Face, meanwhile, had bounced. 

He didn’t really have any roots, but he’d felt closest to LA and had gone back there with Murdock, finding a two bedroomed apartment that was within walking distance of the beach and not quite horrible enough to turn his stomach. Then he’d slowly gone stir crazy while Murdock stayed up all night writing and slept the day away.

He’d visited BA first, but only stayed one week out of the three he’d planned on. It wasn’t like it was anything in particular, but somehow, seeing BA so happy, so settled, planning his wedding, living in the suburbs, setting himself up as a mobile mechanic, it was all too much for Face. He left on a Wednesday night; his face flushed with shame at his uncharitable thoughts and BA’s confused expression burnt into his mind, and went straight to Hannibal’s loft. 

And that, he knows as the taxi edges on, was where things really started to unravel. 

________________________________________

Face tried to blame the sheer number of stairs he’d jogged up for the pounding of his heart as he stood outside Hannibal’s door, but in reality he knew it was something else completely. He was still using his battered old kit bag and now it was slung over his shoulder as he wiped sweaty palms on his jeans, knowing he was two weeks early for his visit but somehow just feeling that Hannibal wouldn’t mind. 

He knocked.

It was a long while before the door was opened, and Face had just convinced himself that Hannibal was out and he’d have to return later on, when, with the thud of a deadbolt, the door swung in and Face got his first look at his old boss in four, tedious months. 

They just stared at each other. 

Hannibal was dressed in a bathrobe, dark grey, like steel which complemented his colouring perfectly. He’d also grown a beard. Not a full flowing wizardly type thing – short and trimmed and just perfect, framing his strong jaw and making him look like an author or a teacher, a very buff author or teacher.

Face swallowed and forced out a smile and stamped down on that little voice in the back of his head that sang out like a five year old every time the feelings running through him caught him unaware like this. “Hey, boss. Surprise,” he eventually offered.

There were three very long seconds that passed before Hannibal answered with his own obviously forced smile and a, “Face. What are you doing here?” that poured iced water right through Face’s veins.

He shuffled awkwardly. “Um, visiting you?” he tried the smile once more. “A little early?” he hated that it sounded as if he were pleading…

If anything, those words made Hannibal look even more uncomfortable. He shuffled closer to the gap in the door, lowering his voice a little and tried to keep eye contact with Face. “Right, okay,” the eye contact failed. “It’s just not the best time, kid, that’s all.”

What happened next probably filled up two whole seconds of Face’s life, but in Face’s world they stretched out, dragging their claws right through his heart as every single awful moment took its time in announcing itself to the world. First came his own, belated realisation that the lights in Hannibal’s studio were dim and atmospheric, then came the sounds of music, Etta James Face knew, one of Hannibal’s very favourites, crooning her best into the night. His eyes flicked up to Hannibal who had finally managed to meet his eyes and he opened his mouth to say something banal, but someone else beat him to it.

“John?” the voice came from inside the apartment and Face could see Hannibal wince even as his own body felt speared by ice. “Are you coming back to bed? I’m- oh, sorry…”

The door was only open a crack, but it was wide enough to see the owner of the voice, the very male voice. He was about Face’s age, must have been six foot tall, fairly well built, body on display in his tight black trunks, light brown hair, designer stubble, and his blue eyes when he met Face’s were tinged in something like victory.

For an agonisingly long second, Face and the interloper stared at each other until Hannibal pulled the door closed a little more, so now Face could only see a narrow slice of that bathrobe and called over his shoulder, “Yeah, alright, Dylan. I’ll just be a minute.”

He turned back to Face at that, Dylan’s comment of, “Okay, I’ll wait for you in bed…” enough to turn Hannibal’s cheeks a darker red and get Face taking a stricken step backwards.

“Shit, I’m sorry boss…”

Face’s apology landed right on top of Hannibal’s, “You should have called…”

“I know, I know…” Face was backing up the corridor now, his head full of pictures of Dylan and what he and Hannibal must have been getting up to, “I’m sorry…”

Hannibal went to follow him, slipping out through the door as Dylan’s call of, “Jo-hn!!!” drifted out to both of them.

“I’ll go,” Face was only just managing to control his urge to run. “You’re right, I should never have come.”

“I didn’t say that,” Hannibal looked uncharacteristically flustered. “Just give me a minute, let me get rid of my… guest… and you can come in.”

“No, no, nooooo…” Face was walking backwards, shaking his head as he back-tracked, his fingers already reaching out for the door to the stairwell, “It’s fine, it’s fine. You go… enjoy yourself… I’ll just…” his back hit the door and Hannibal took a step towards him. “I’ll just go.”

Hannibal moved, his mouth opening even as his hand reached for Face but Face was faster and in half a second he was thundering down the stairs. 

_________________________________________

Back in the taxi, Face feels his cheeks flush with shame again. What had he been thinking of? Bursting in on Hannibal’s life like that? It had taken him until after breakfast in a dingy diner following a sleepless night in a very cheap hotel, to even pick up one of Hannibal’s calls to his mobile. 

_________________________________________

“Hey,” his hands were cold and he gripped his untouched coffee as he finally accepted the call when his phone flashed, ‘Boss’ at him.

There was a pause, just enough to get Face’s heart hammering again, before Hannibal spoke. “Where are you?” Straight to the point as always.

“In a diner,” Face was happy to keep conversation down to this basic level, “West Village. But, ah,” he rubbed at his forehead, “you don’t have to worry about me, boss,” he wondered if he’d ever be able to stop calling this man that, “thought I’d catch a flight out later today, head back up to BA, you know.”

The pause was back.

“I need to see you.”

Face closed his eyes. Why the fuck did Hannibal always have to insist on saying things like that to him? Didn’t he know how Face’s stupid, desperate brain always interpreted those words? Hannibal always said them but had never acted on them and that had hurt. It hurt a fuck load more now that Face realised his boss was gay.

“Sure,” he was agreeing without even realising it, knowing that he’d always agree to anything Hannibal needed from him. 

“Which diner?”

Face looked at the reversed letters on the window. “Josie’s,” and Hannibal sighed.

“That place is a flea pit, kid. What you doing there?” he gave Face no time to answer, “Go to the Village Den around the corner, I’ll see you there, shout you a Club sandwich.”

Face’s stomach was churning but he nodded anyway, “When?”

And this time there wasn’t a pause at all. “Twenty minutes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Face was there in fifteen, but Hannibal was already waiting for him, waving him over as soon as their eyes met in the busy room. Sliding into the seat across from him, Face suddenly found that he was the one struggling to make eye contact.

“Right, okay…” there was some awkward shuffling of menus, “glad you could make it. I’ve ordered you a club with roasted peppers, right?”

Face nodded. Of course, Hannibal always knew exactly what he wanted… apart from in the areas it mattered most. 

The tension drifted onward. Hannibal talking just that little too loudly to be normal, Face just that little too quiet. Drinks arrived, freshly brewed decaf for Face, iced tea for Hannibal and Face found his eyes glued to the frosted glass in a mixture of wonder and confusion. 

“So,” Hannibal started in his over loud voice, “I spoke to BA last night, he said you’d had fun. Wasn’t sure why you left so early though… thought maybe you had things to do?”

“Since when do you drink iced tea?” Face’s voice had a hard edge to it that surprised even him, briefly their eyes met – then Face flicked over to the window.

“I, er, a friend of mine, on my course…”

“Dylan?” Face couldn’t help it and he could almost feel Hannibal deflate. 

“No,” at least the stupid loud voice had gone, “Michelle. She bought me one and I liked it.” Face stared out of the window and Hannibal sighed across the table. “Look Face,” his voice was tired. “I’m not sorry I’m gay but I am sorry you had to find out that way.”

And suddenly, just like that, it was out there. What the fuck was he supposed to say now? ‘Me too’? Hardly. Instead he fixed his eyes on his napkin and asked, “How long?”

Hannibal sighed again. “Me and Dylan? About a month.”

“No,” there was a knife in Face’s throat to rival the one in his heart. “How long have you been gay?” 

This time a flat laughed huffed over the table towards him. “Always, kid, just always. It’s not a switch you can flick on and off you know.”

Face knew, of course he fucking knew, and it didn’t matter how many women you slept with either, that burning need was always just _there_. Inexplicably he felt hot tears prick his eyes; if it was so damn easy to say it now, then why hadn’t he said it before? All those years they’d lived in each other’s pockets and he’d never said a word, never even hinted.

The waiter arrived then, loud and brash and fussing over Hannibal, ‘accidently’ dropping a napkin into the older man’s lap and winking as he leaned in to retrieve it. Face was morbidly fascinated; if Hannibal was so obviously flashing up on this guy’s gaydar, than why the hell had it been such a shock to Face?

Hannibal, meanwhile, flushed and glared at the waiter until he gave it up and sauntered back across the room, swinging his ass hopefully as he went and Face found himself staring now, his eyes tracing the close cropped hair, that wonderful, new beard and wondering what the hell he’d missed.

There were a few moments of silence as Face stared, watching Hannibal pulling onions out of his sandwich, wondering, as always, why he just didn’t order it without. Then squashing it down, taking a slow, measured bite and chewing, swallowing with his eyes on his plate before setting down the whole thing and sighing, wiping his fingers before looking up and fixing Face with his most penetrating of stares. “You not eating?”

Face stared at his sandwich like it had just appeared and Hannibal sighed again. 

“Look kid,” his voice was sad and that got Face’s eyes up again, “I was hoping you’d never have to find out about me, see me for who I really am,” Face frowned. “But now you have, and I can see it’s hard for you, I get that, I understand…” he looked down. “Maybe it would be better if you left town? There doesn’t seem to be much point in you staying with things like this.”

The knife in Face’s chest twisted, hard, and in his head all he could see was Dylan and his smug grin. “You want me to go?”

Beat.

“Yes. I think that would be best.”

There was the screech of wooden chair legs on tiles as Face shot to his feet, pulling the odd strange glance from fellow diners and frown from Hannibal. “Okay,” his voice was embarrassingly rough. “That’s fine, I’m getting in the way of you fucking around with your Chippendale, right?”

Hannibal’s frown deepened as he looked anxiously around him, “Face…”

“It’s okay,” the tears were back, bright in his eyes, making him blink furiously. “I get it, I’ll go. I’m an expert in knowing when I’m not wanted, remember?”

“Face-” Hannibal started but Face waved him quiet.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m going. I just don’t understand why you ever kept me around as long as you did, that’s all, especially when you didn’t even ever want to fuck me.”

He had no idea at all where that had come from, none at all, but he certainly wasn’t hanging around to find out. A few of the other diners were watching them now, some with smirks on their faces and Face just left, walking out of the door and not stopping until he was back in his hotel room, his phone ringing, ignored, in his pocket. 

__________________________

The cab edges on a fraction but Face doesn’t even notice as his eyes fix on the wet road, watching the patterns the coloured lights make on the dirty canvas. He should have left New York then, he realises now. He should have gone and not made it even worse for himself in the end…

__________________________

After the tenth time Hannibal called him, Face switched his phone off and lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what was making his heart hurt so much. In the end the silence and the introspection were too much for him and he went out, walking the three blocks that brought him to ‘Pride’, a rainbow painted bar that was usually the last sort of place he liked to frequent.

It was only three Riptides later when the room was starting to swim and he was exchanging suggestive eye contact with a tall, grey haired guy at the bar, that the truth hit him like a steaming train. He sat stock still in shock, until a clumsy hand landed in his groin, fondling his private junk, then he shot to his feet, suddenly knowing what he should have been doing instead.

It was raining, icy sleety rain that slipped down his neck but he hardly noticed, just staggered unsteadily through the streets trying to get his bearings and find his way back to Hannibal’s apartment. It was a little after midnight when he finally got there, the cold had failed to sober him up at all and his clothes were wet through and filthy from his numerous arguments with gravity. He stopped at the door, his eyes tracing the wonderful curves of the silver ‘608’ on the door and he raised a finger to the bell. Then, he stopped.

Memories of his previous visit here slammed into him and he looked fuzzily at his watch. He was a fool. Hannibal and Dylan were in a relationship; the other man would be here for sure, he probably spent all of his night round at Hannibal’s, for all he knew they could be fucking right now, right on the other side of that door…

Face recoiled, staggering backwards until he hit the wall and went down like a poached elephant, his leg folding awkwardly underneath him, his eyes swimming once again. 

He had no idea how long he sat there, staring at nothing, unheeded tears trickling pathetically down his cheeks. At some point a man and a woman spoke to him as they passed by in the corridor but he ignored them, his mind too full of Hannibal and the memory of his, ‘Maybe it would be better if you left town?’ to care. A little after that there was the sound of a phone ringing on the other side of Hannibal’s door, and then, the shining 608 swung out of Face’s view as light spilt onto him from the apartment inside.

“Oh, Face…” 

He closed his eyes at the disappointment he knew he could hear in those two words and just let Hannibal haul him up, helping him to stumble across the hallway and into a room that smelt so much of cigars and _Hannibal_ that Face just wanted to cry again. He ducked his head, Hannibal’s words washing over him in soft waves as he was led onto soft carpets, laid down on a wonderfully smelling bed and slowly and efficiently stripped of his wet clothes.

He lay still, trying to help a little with a raised ankle, or a twisted hip, but his body felt like it was made of lead. His eyes slowly focussed though, running around the room with its book shelves and desk, cosy sitting area with a flat screen and a living flame fire. He blinked at the bright white kitchen with its pristine surfaces but all he could see was Dylan, his too-perfect body occupying every space.

“Where’s Dylan?” he slurred as Hannibal helped him into a pair of sweats, missing the rueful smile that broke over Hannibal’s face. 

“He’s not here; we split up.” 

“Aw,” Face tried his best to look sympathetic. “I’m sorry, boss, I know you loved him.”

A duvet was pulled up over his chest and Hannibal sat on top of it, right at his hip, smoothing wet hair from his eyes. “I never loved him, kid. Don’t ever think I did.”

Face nodded, feeling bad that he was pleased to hear that.

“You never told me…” he whispered, his eyes falling shut at the soft stroking of his hair. “All this time, and you never told me.”

There was a long pause, he had just about given up on Hannibal ever answering when the words finally came. “I never wanted to upset you, that’s why.”

Forcing his eyes open, Face looked at him. “By refusing me? That what you mean?”

The hand stilled a moment and Hannibal frowned as he looked down at Face. “Refusing you?” he asked.

Face laughed, a nasty, humourless sound. “Yeah. Because if I’d known that’s what you liked…” a surge of bravery surfaced, riding upwards on the alcohol. “I love you, Hannibal. Always have done. I’d have wanted you then, just like I want you now.”

There was still no movement from the hand in his hair and Face locked his eyes with Hannibal’s projecting sincerity with everything he had.

Hannibal however, just frowned. “Face…”

“Don’t,” the tears were back, blurring Face’s view of everything around him but he suddenly knew how vital this next minute would be for his future happiness. “Please, boss, please don’t turn me away. I love you. I’m yours, your boy, always have been, always will be.”

“Face…” the hand was gone now and Face could feel panic bubbling in his chest.

“Hannibal, please. I am begging you, please don’t do this to me. I’m yours, come and make love with me…” he reached out but Hannibal recoiled, driving that knife even deeper as he got to his feet taking a step back as Face out for reached for him.

“You’re drunk,” he offered, his voice rough.

“Probably,” Face held his eyes, “but it’s still true.”

Hannibal shook his head. “Go to sleep.”

“Please…” Face felt a tear sneak out of his eye and down his cheek, but Hannibal had already turned away, walking towards the door to the en-suite. “John…” he’d never used that name before, only in his bed when he was feeling alone but Hannibal didn’t even pause.

“Go to sleep, Face,” he growled, the anger in his voice more than Face could stand, he lay back down again, screwing his eyes closed and fisting the sheets in effort to block the out the pain in his chest. 

He lay awake for hours, waiting for Hannibal to come back to him, eventually rising to seek him out himself, only to find him asleep on the floor of the bathroom, a towel under his head, another over his shoulders.

The sight pierced Face’s last bubble of hope, and he walked back to the bed, pulling on his wet clothes and letting himself out, the knowledge that Hannibal would rather sleep on the floor next to the toilet rather than face him after his declaration of love, possibly the most painful realisation of his life.

________________________________________

On the ride to JFK, Face stares out through the rain spattered windows, eyes wet once more as he wonders how he could have been so wrong in his estimation of his worth to Hannibal. He’d built a life around just being with the man, being part of his glow, feeding on scraps of appreciation thrown his way. It was only when he saw Dylan standing there in his underwear, that he realised he wanted more and he should have known that he was nowhere near good enough to deserve it.

But he’s made his decision now, and he’s leaving. Leaving Hannibal, leaving the team, leaving everything from his past life behind him. Murdock, BA and Hannibal, they’ve all moved on, only Face is left standing still and he’s not often the slowest on the uptake. But at least leaving is a choice, being left behind is a consequence and Face will take the choice any day. Even if it’s a choice that will stay with him, forever.

They’re almost there, the stop-start journey flowing much more smoothly now the Interstate is clear, despite the heavy rain that the wipers are having trouble shifting. Face realises that he’s not bothered if he has missed his flight. He’s got his passport with him, as much as he’s phoned Murdock and told him he’s on his way home to pack up his few possessions, he knows that he won’t really be missed if he doesn’t get there. 

He’ll just travel, he decides as he peels off a few twenties to give his driver. Yeah, maybe go overseas for the first time without having to dodge bullets when he gets there. He’s trying to be positive he knows as he heaves his bag over his shoulder, but it’s hard when his insides have been shredded and torn. 

The drop off point is packed, everyone trying to get right up close and under the canopies to escape the driving rain, but Face isn’t bothered, what’s a little rain when you’re frozen inside anyway? He asks the driver to let him out here and hands the money over, not waiting for change as he pops the rear door and clambers out into the chilled air. The rain is coming down sideways, with enough ice in it to sting as its hits his face so he ducks down and heads in the direction of warmth, eyes watching the reflected Christmas lights on the ground as he hurries on.

Suddenly he stops dead, feet have appeared in front of him and two huge hands have thudded into his shoulders and he looks up, fists already clenched ready to defend himself and finds his whole view taken up with Hannibal’s pale, anxious and very wet face.

They stare at each other. 

“Where are you _going_?”There’s emotion in Hannibal’s voice that Face can’t place and he frowns, wondering what he’s doing here. “Murdock said you were _leaving_? Leaving the country, leaving us all?”

Face’s throat is tight and he shrugs, feeling the rain hammering the back of his head, soaking the suit he’d worn to try and bolster his damaged confidence. “Fresh start,” is all he can think of to say.

Hannibal’s eyes close and the fingers on Face’s shoulders squeeze tightly, he seems to be searching for courage which is odd as Hannibal never lacks courage. “Face…” his voice is rough, “I need to know the truth.” Face frowns. “I know it’s not fair of me to ask you but…” their eyes meet, “I need to know.”

“I’ll tell you anything. Anything you ask is yours,” and that’s a truth, the absolute truth that Face has always lived by.

Hannibal stares at him, holds his eyes as the rain continues to bounce down around them. “How do you feel,” there is a blush on those previously pale cheeks, “about me, kid? How do you feel about us?”

Face huffs out a bitter laugh; what a question. “How long have you got?” he asks and knows he’s nothing left to lose here, his dignity went right out the window last night and he’s already lost Hannibal’s friendship, Murdock and BA’s too no doubt. What else has he ever had? “I love you,” he says simply. “With every single tiny part of me, I love you right down to my core. Every single person I have ever slept with, man or woman, has simply been because I couldn’t have you. Every single moment I’ve been at your side whether we were fighting for our lives or being tortured for some sick fuck’s fun – they’ve all been worth it and wonderful because I was with you.” He shrugs. “But you don’t feel that way back, and that’s okay, I get that,” he smiles over the tearing of his heart. “So don’t worry about me, boss, I need to move on, be a big boy for once and I’ll land on my feet. I always do.”

He needs to move now, before he starts crying and clinging to Hannibal, begging him to let him stay but the hands on his shoulders stay firm, holding him tightly as Hannibal’s blue eyes bore into him. Face watches, confused, his eyes drawn to the rain drops in Hannibal’s beard, looking like precious jewels in the reflected Christmas lights. The lips on his shock him, the hands sliding over his shoulders and across his back, pulling him close as well but he goes with it, enjoys it as much as he can when he knows it’s a consolation prize, a goodbye. 

Then Hannibal pulls back and Face braces himself, knows what’s coming and tries to be strong enough to survive it. 

“Come back with me.”

Face’s eyes flick up in shock.

“Come home and let me love you,” he leans in again, presses a kiss on Face’s stunned lips, nuzzles at his cheek and whispers, “I want to give you my life; I want to give you my love. I want to spend my days listening to your laughter and my nights with you in my arms. I need you to make a life with me, Face, to make love with me, and never, ever, leave my side again.”

Face’s hand moves all on its own, sliding through short, wet hair, cradling Hannibal’s head in the way he’s only ever dreamed of, listening to words he’s only ever dreamed of as he feels warm breath and kisses on the side of his face, his neck, his ear. “But…” his defences are strong though, they won’t let him fall into hope, not just yet, “last night… you said…”

“You were drunk,” the kisses are still there, peppered between words and Face can feel himself growing hard in response, “and upset and I would never, _never_ take advantage of you like that. And… I didn’t know, not for sure. I spoke to Murdock, and he said…” Face’s eyes sink closed. He can only imagine what Murdock might have said, the only person in the whole world who knew his most precious of secrets. Hannibal pulls back now and as much as Face misses him close, when he opens his eyes, he knows; when he can see those steady blue eyes watching him he realises that this, finally, is the truth of the matter. 

He takes a breath, it’s now or never. “Take me home and let me love you, Hannibal,” he watches as dark pupils dilate, “I want to give you my life and my love. I want to hear you laugh all day and sleep in your arms at night. I need you to share your life with me, to make love with me, and never, ever, leave my side again.”

Hannibal smiles, the first natural one Face has seen since he’s arrived in New York. “As you wish…” he whispers and leans in to kiss Face again as Face pulls him closer, pressing their bodies together, not caring who’s looking and knowing that this is the moment he’s always needed – the moment when his life, his choices - everything - finally makes sense.


End file.
